


Four Cares for Tris

by DancingChupacabra



Category: Divergent - All Media Types, Divergent Series - Veronica Roth
Genre: Alternate Universe - Real World, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bathing/Washing, Caretaking, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Protests, behaves like canon, unrest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2020-06-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:41:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24485257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DancingChupacabra/pseuds/DancingChupacabra
Summary: After finding herself embroiled in violence on the street, and injured Tris stumbles back to Tobais's apartment, where he takes care of her injuries and comforts her.(It is slightly AU but honestly could be canon)
Relationships: Four | Tobias Eaton & Tris Prior, Four | Tobias Eaton/Tris Prior
Comments: 1
Kudos: 58





	Four Cares for Tris

**Author's Note:**

> I am sad and had a bad day yesterday, so I decided to imagine what these two might do. They did after all, live through a revolution. <3
> 
> (This is inspired/prompted by current events, but it doesn't have to be).

I barely made it home. When I finally made it onto the train it was packed with tension, everyone jostling and pressing against each other. Scattering at every stop, I had trouble making getting the right one and stumbling back to our apartment. I’ve lost my keys, so I knock on the door until Tobias lets me in. He comes quickly and at the sight of me I see relief and then quickly anger flash across his face. He opens his mouth and I think he might yell at me.

“Please, be angry with me _later_ ,” my voice is weak and shaky and I hope it makes it clear how badly I _don’t_ need to be scolded right now.

“Okay,” He sighs and presses me to his chest. Its so good to lean against him and I let my legs rest. He takes me inside and quickly gets me a glass of water. I’m so tired, and I hurt all over, but he makes me drink it all, sip by sip, before he speaks again.

“Are you ok? What happened?” My mouth still feels dry and my head is killing me.

“I was…it was…we were running and they started shooting something at us—I dont know what. I fell down?” I close my eyes, I’m not even sure all of what happened. I think I missed the stairs in front of me?

“There were stairs, and I was in the ground…people all over me.”

“You were trampled?” The alarm in his voice makes my throat tighten and my heart hurt.

“Why did no one protect you? Pick you up?” There is anger in his voice again.

“Tobias…they were running too.” I heave my eyelids open long enough to beg him to let this go for now. He stokes my head and tries to clear the hair from my face. I feel disgusting. Dirt and sweat together on all parts of my body. I can smell the pungent sweat of adrenaline and fear. Some parts of my body are bloody, too.

“Let’s get you cleaned up.” He puts my arm around his neck and helps me to the bathroom.

“C’mon,” he says softly as he helps me out of my shoes and socks “was there any gas? Should we throw out your clothes?” He asks with his hands on the hem of my shirt. I shake my head no, because I don’t think they did. My eyes don’t burn and I wasn’t knocked out. He mouths “ok” and takes my top off. It hurts when I lift my arms and I wince. He looks at me with concern, but I really _don't_ want him to look at me right now so I fumble with my pants. I really can’t stand up very well and I end up holding onto him with one hand and shimming out of them using the other.

When I’m naked he puts his arm around my waist and helps me into the shower. Even after all this time, I hate being naked in front of anyone, even him, and I try to cover myself with my arms. It's useless but once we’re in the shower and the warm water is on my skin I feel a little better. My head still pounds like mot brain is trying to escape from my skull. I’m overcome with another wave of exhaustion and I don't want to stand up anymore.

Tobias holds my arms and I sit down on the floor of the shower. _We really need a bathtub._ I’m going to have to tell him that. Later. I’ll tell him later... I lean my head against the cool shower wall and close my eyes again. Sitting is good. I hear Tobias step into the shower and close the door. Is he still wearing his clothes? That’s not fair…

I start to drift off but I feel his soapy hands on my legs. I peak down at myself and see that there are several bruises of all different shades on my body. I wince as he touches one of them on my upper right thigh and my hand moves instinctively to stop him.

“Hey, hey, hey. Its ok,” he speaks softly and his voice is soothing as he gently strokes my arm. Suddenly my hand really really itches and I go to scratch it—only to find a bloody gash I have now disrupted.

“Owww,” I whine, and not even because it hurts but because it _itches_. He takes my wrist to stop me scratching anymore and I close my eyes again, leaning back as he lifts my arm into the water stream to clean it off. _This is fine. This is ok._ I can handle this. I’ll just sit here and he can clean me up and then I can go to sleep. I hope my head will hurt less when I wake up. I’m just getting comfortable when he grabs me under the arms and tries to hoist me to my feet. I protest and mumble, but when he grabs my shoulder I shout in pain. He lets go, but tells me he has to get me up so her can get a better look at my shoulder. Still with my eyes closed, I nod and he takes my arms, avoiding my gash, and slowly I bend my knees and press onto my feet. I’m so tired and if he wasn’t pulling me up I’m sure I would not be able to get off the floor.

I lean my whole body against him, wrapping my arms around him despite the pain. He doesn’t have his shirt on at least. His body feels sure and strong and the feeling of his skin on my cheek comforts me. He cranes his head around and gingerly prods my shoulder. It isn’t dislocated, but I think that’s where I was hit with…whatever it was. There’s no broken skin and no broken bones—all good signs. It hurts, but I can still move my shoulder so he concedes medical attention can wait. He turns us so that my back is getting the spray of the water and positions me so he can hold me up with one arm. He lifts my good arm and scrubs my armpit with soap. It feels so embarrassing but I am grateful for it. I know I smell horrible and I really want to be clean. His touch is gentle and I know I wouldn’t let anyone else touch me like this. I'm glad he's here, and I'm glad he's taking care of me. I steal a look downward and reassess that maybe things aren’t as bad as I thought. I think only my arms and maybe my face have any cuts on them and besides the one on my thigh that throbs, the bruises don’t look _too_ bad. He rinses me off and then rotates me so he can clean my other arm. He doesn’t lift it as far and is careful not to hit my shoulder. I get a whiff of the soap and am happy to learn that it is _his_ soap. I inhale again and press my face into his chest, letting myself relax to the familiar sensations of home.

He rubs my back lightly and then kisses me tenderly before shifting my weight. He leans me against his chest before removing his hands. This leaves more of my weight on my own feet and that makes me groan. I hear him lathering something between his hands and then he’s rubbing shampoo into my hair. I pout a little to myself, because I’m tired of this and just want to go to sleep now, but I’m still thankful he’s doing it. He scrubs gingerly at my scalp and even though my head is pounding it feels nice. He shuffles into he water stream and begins rising it out. Suddenly I feel him tense up. His hands stop moving and he takes me by the shoulder.

“Tris,” he says slowly, trying to keep his voice even, “whose blood is in your hair?”

I open one eye and look up at him. There’s blood in my hair?

“I don’t know…” Its not good not to know whose blood it is. Maybe that’s why my head hurts so badly. I don’t _remember_ getting hit in the head... He leans my head back to rinse the rest of the shampoo. He carefully moves the strands around, his fingertips prodding at my scalp. I still don’t think there’s any cut, but when his fingers find that spot somewhere above my left ear and I grimace, I know he’s found it. He spends some more time examining and rising it, and then tells me that he doesn’t think I will need stitches.

I nod, but really I’m barely hearing him. It would be ok to sleep on his shoulder like this. Yes, I think I will…

I’m not exactly sure if I drift off or not, but I jolt when I almost stumble over and he grabs me to keep me from falling. I blink my eyes open and grab onto his forearms to steady myself. After I get my balance, he quickly puts conditioner in his hand and then into my hair—an act so simple yet so thoughtful it actually brings me to tears. He looks into my eyes and I try to blink the tears away. Maybe he’ll do me the dignity of pretending it is water from the shower. He looks deeply at me, examining my face. I know he might be angry with me later, but right now he’s nothing but concerned and focused.

“I love you.” I breathe out the words.

“I love you.” He breathes them in and gives them back to me.

I kiss him and then he hugs me tighly. It hurts some but I want to feel his arms tightly around me. He turns off the water and holds me tightly to his side and we walks sideways into the bathroom. He grabs a towel and carefully pats down my legs and then my arms, avoiding the cut on my arm. He then wraps it around my shoulders, scoops me up, and sets me down on the sink. He wraps another towel around his waist and pulls out the first aid supplies. My head is so heavy, and so I let it lull forward but apparently I don’t have good sense of my balance and I almost fall off. He catches me under the arms again and sits me on the floor. The lights in the bathroom are so bright and even when I close my eyes my head is killing me. I _must_ have gotten kicked in the head, it hurts maybe worse than any other physical pain I’ve experienced.

He tenderly attends to all my cuts and scrapes, putting antibiotic cream on them and then bandaging the worst ones. He takes extra time taping gauze to my arm. I take I peak before does. Its not bleeding very much right now but it looks _bad_. I really hope I don’t need stitches. He doesn’t think any of the ones on my face are bad at all and says I must have had good instincts to protect my stomach and face. I try to offer him a weak smile but I’m just so tired…can we be done now?

“I don’t think your head needs stitches but if it opens up tonight I’m taking you in tomorrow,” His voice is compassionate but firm.I want to tell him not to speak to me like a child but really, it could be a lot worse. I just nod silently.

“Do you think you have a concussion?” I can almost hear him raise his eyebrows. But hey…he trusts my judgement. I want to tell him no, because I want to go to sleep, but to be honest I’m not that sure…

“Hey, look at me,” he takes my chin and examines my face and eyes, tilting my face gently to each side before squinting at me a little, apparently deciding he’s satisfied, and standing.

“I’m taking you in. I can’t let you go to sleep like this.”

“What?” My eyes shoot open despite the pain and I glare up at him. His arms are crossed and he’s looking down at me like a child.

“You can’t even stand,” his face and shoulders soften a little, but his arms and mouth stand firm. Fueled by anger, disappointment, and a desire to prove him wrong, I scramble up to my feet, with some difficulty. Wrapping the towel tighter around myself I feel my face burning with indignation.

“Can you walk?” His mouth is pressed into a thin line and he squares his shoulders.

“Well I walked here, didn’t I?” The line comes out more bite than I thought I had in me. We stare at each other for a moment. My face is stoic and I’m determined not to give anything away, but the truth is I really _am_ tired and it hurts to stand. After a moment more I decide I need to switch tactics.

“I’m just tired. Please, Tobias, let me go to sleep.” His face softens a little and he sighs, but he’s still looking at me expectantly. I plead with him a little more with my eyes, but it doesn’t seem to help.

“Tobias, the emergency rooms are full.” I’m torn between wanting to look for his reaction and not being able to bear his gaze. “There were… a lot of people,” the words feel like they’re clogging my throat and I have to look away as I say it. I feel tear roll down my cheek and I gasp for air. In a second, my legs won’t hold me anymore, and he’s catching me as I fall to the ground. I can hear my own gasping sobs but I can’t control them anymore. My body curls into the fetal position as Tobais’s arms surround and hold me tightly. I tire myself out quickly and turn to quieter, hiccuping cries. He doesn’t say anything, just holds me tightly and presses his lips to my head. I hated it, but I _am_ like a child. Maybe I’m ashamed of it, but maybe he makes me feel so safe it doesn’t matter anymore.

When I calm down a bit more, but touches my face and wipes the tears away. I almost think that I can’t bare to look at him, but when he lifts my face to his I must look so pitiful his face is soft and his eyes are sad. He presses his lips to my forehead. Scooping me up with one arm under my knees and the other around my back, he lifts me easily and carries me into the bedroom. I put my arms around his neck, like a child, and let him take me in. He gets me clothes and helps me put them on. He takes a few moments to comb out my hair and during even this I long to put my head on the pillow and let myself sleep. Finally, he pulls and covers back and helps me in. I almost ask if he’s going to tuck me in, but then I see that his face is hard, his lips pressed firmly together and his eyes icy.

“Please don’t be angry with me,” as the words come out I am very close to begging. 

“Tris….” his voice is strained and chilly, warning.

But I have to explain myself. I can’t go to sleep letting him think that I got hurt doing something I knew would be dangerous for no reason. He has to understand. He _has_ to understand.

“I couldn’t not have gone. I had to. I had to. It’s wrong, we have to go out and—“ suddenly my throat is thick with tears and its all pressing down on me again and I am so upset and so outraged and so heartsick. I don’t have any more tears so instead I just collapse onto the bed, defeated. He strokes my hair again and I hear him take a big sigh.

“I know.” I look up at him and he looks tired, too.

“It’s wrong. It’s terrible.” He scoots closer to me and leans down. “ _I_ worry about you. I want you to be safe.”

“But we can’t—we have to—we have to be the ones to stop it. We have to be the ones to stand up and to protect—“ but again I am gasping and hiccuping and it's more embarrassing without the tears.

“I _know_.” He speaks calmly and with intention, taking my face in his hands. And when he looks at me this time, I know he is with me.

“Next time,” his voice is full of sorrow and love, “ _please_ let me come with you.” I’m so relived to hear his words. Despite my tiredness and pain, I fling my arms around his neck and hug him tightly. We hold each other for a few minutes, and then we lie down, with his body curled around mine.

He repeats “I know, I know” into my ear and strokes my hair. I squeeze his hand tightly, just to feel like I have something to hold on to. When I went out today, I was so bold, so impassioned, that I didn’t even think of asking him. I thought he would have told me it was too dangerous and I didn’t want to argue about it. But now I know he can’t possibly be angry with me. And I know, because if I know _anything_ about his character I _know_ , that he would do the same thing. If it came to it, and it sometimes does, he would use his own body to shield the innocent. And I love him for it.

**Author's Note:**

> I find inspiration/ strength in fictional characters, which is why I wrote this. It is not to disrespect anyone or make light of anything. I know many of us like fan fiction to get away from the real world but it can also help us cope with what is going on. Take care. Of yourself, of others, of your community.   
> <3 DC


End file.
